Where to start is the problem, because nothing begins when it begins, and nothing’s over when it’s over, and everything needs a preface: a preface, a postscript, a chart of simultaneous events. (Margaret Atwood)

So, I have to say that although I may be a liberal, I certainly am not a feminist. While I approve and am glad of the accomplishment of the feminist movement, I believe that in certain areas it has been taken to extremes. Too much political correctness is just another form of hypocrisy. And I hate hypocrisy!

This post is for all my divorced female friends.  Since I haven’t been in your situation, I realize that I may not have a divorcee’s perspective, just that of another married woman’s, and a content married woman at that. I have known most of you since childhood, and have been on many occasions more than just a bystander to the events of your lives.  We have gone through awful hairstyles, teenage angst, the dating circuit, the good and bad in marriage, and motherhood together.  We know things about each other that not even our husbands or exes know.  And yet, I feel that when we broach the subject of divorce, there’s a steel curtain between the married group and the divorced group.  It’s as if the married ones are too afraid of invoking a divorce by even mentioning the word, and the divorced ones, after so much logical scrutiny of what and where they went wrong, can’t seem to wait to re-marry, certain that this time it will work.

Allow me to admit something: the perfect, sugar-icing marriage does not exist.  Those of us who think we have it are in denial.  So sorry to burst your bubble.  Giving up parts of ourselves are the expected compromises made in a marriage, but they do not result in an ideal union.  Remember that in our community and our culture, image is everything.  Gossip is the currency of choice. That model marriage is just an airbrushed photo.  You only see what they want to show you.

We struggle in our roles as wives, mothers and providers, and our husbands are no different. More often than not, we make mistakes. Our duties, our responsibilities can become a burden, made more cumbersome by our romantic expectations.  And we fail miserably if we believe that there is a man out there who can meet all our needs and can make us truly happy.

You are fully dimensional women.  Before you launch yourselves like missiles into another marriage, evaluate your expectations (and please, please, please, don’t fall for another alpha male when you know you need a beta one).  Be devoted to yourselves and be devoted to your children.  Make friends with your weaknesses as well as your strengths. Acknowledge your pain, anger, betrayal and hatred, and don’t let guilt and cultural expectations play you like an instrument. And who cares what that (you’re welcome to insert any adjective you want here) ex says.  You certainly are not the first women to be on the receiving end of men’s venomous tongues.

A failed relationship is not the end of the world.  Just don’t forget your obligation to yourself and let insight replace hope. Refuse to make the same mistake twice by believing a man will complete you.  I love you dearest friends.

I continually have to endure every brilliant pearl that falls from her daughter’s lips, every nuance, every sneeze.  So many women fall into this trap and end up boring everyone to death with details that parents should keep to themselves. It’s almost as if parenthood sucks up every available brain cell and like the canary, whose brain cells regenerate every year, all previous data is erased forever and all you hear is this year’s song. Kaufman/Mack–Literacy and Longing in L.A.

I love this quote. It is funny and true and also sad. Once most of us become parents we forget about that intimacy created between friends through the sharing of our thoughts, and become good listeners only when it serves our purposes.  When I make a new mommy friend, I put her through this test. I say something about my son or daughter and if she listens and asks questions I know she’s a keeper.  If, instead, she cuts in and one-upmanships me, I listen politely and after a few banalities exchanged, I keep my distance. I’ve realized something though, it is becoming increasingly difficult to make mommy friends who still separate their individual self from their mother self.

Soon after my son was born, a group of us newly wed mothers of infants (and one newly wed but not yet mother) got together one evening a week, rotating houses, eating and talking our way into the night about everything under the sun. We avoided talking about our babies, not because there was nothing to say, but rather because there was too much and frankly we were sick of it. We also avoided inviting our husbands (but not the subject) although we did take a bunch of trips together with them, which were entertaining in their own way.

Others were often invited, but our best times were when it was just us five girls and our wailing babies.  We learned a lot about each other and from each other.  Our feelings were real, no false cheer allowed, no false sympathy.  Disappointments, fears, desires that some of us would need an entire life to admit, were easily dispensed with because we didn’t judge.  We were eyewitnesses to each other’s existence.  For some of us, it was the only outlet about the disillusions of life.  And how we laughed!  We laughed ourselves silly about everything. 

As the years passed a few other girls became permanent members. Kids have grown, some marriages dissolved, some have gotten stronger, but the purity of the friendships remains.  We don’t get together as often as we used to, but when we do it feels like coming home, filling up on all the goodies or like having a garage sale and getting rid of all the junk.

I did say a while ago that I will not let myself be tricked into what I’m about to do. I suppose I did not realize the level of misunderstanding others have about my political and christian beliefs, and how quickly tempers would flare on a day as important as this one has been. So in an attempt to answer everyone’s emails and texts, I am resorting to this blog. After all is said, I hope you all have your answers and we can move on to another topic.

To a large extent, we are all products of our upbringing.  Our beliefs have been passed down from our parents to us and they have become our truths. Some of us take it all in without blinking and some of us question things. It’s in our nature. I belong to the category of those questioning.  Not because, as some suggest, I’m opposed to running with the herd.  Rather because I have tried too long to run with it, fully aware that the herd was running in the wrong direction.  

I was disenchanted for quite a while and sick of myself for doing what many considered the proper thing: avoiding the greater truth at all costs. I didn’t want my future to become my past, over before I had a chance to do anything about it. Paulo Coelho says in The Pilgrimage: “Only the person who listens to the sounds of the moment is able to make the right decisions. We always know which is the best road to follow, but we follow only the road that we have become accustomed to.”  

I had decided that I did not wish to be blinded by justifications of power and interest any longer.  The getting and the having, a relentless claim of one thing over another.  I couldn’t see what it had to do with being a christian.  And it definitely did not make me a better person.

I realize that many of you are well versed in the popular theology of the day. I don’t have any claims on most of that.  With the exception of this: why is there a need to promote a prosperity theology?  Isn’t this secular pay-off for our faith in complete conflict with the teachings of Jesus?  So many seem to confuse right wing politics and an economic theory with what Jesus actually expects, which is so clearly outlined in St. Matthew chapter 5.

Throughout the last administration we had been fed on hatred and paranoia.  The real Jesus has been silenced.  And people who should have known better inhaled it because the ones in power called themselves Christians.

Had an interesting thought this morning conversing with one of my friends.  He was asking why is there, beneath all my apparent happiness, a hint of melancholy.  And since he’s a mind reader, I asked him to figure it out.  But, in all seriousness, I did think about it for a few minutes and I realized that for quite a while now, I spend my days looking into mirrors others hold up.  Am I doing the right thing?  Am I saying the right thing?  Am I wearing the right thing?  Am I a good enough wife, mother, friend, sister, daughter?  

So much concern with driving the right car and living in the right house.  This anxiety to please.  To become what those around me want me to be. I’ve become enslaved to the opinions of others.  And aren’t I taking this inane obsession of comparing myself to others, a little too far?  As if all that matters is that I am approved and liked and put somewhere on a pedestal.  The top of the invisible hierarchy is a nice place to be.  But it’s safe and boring and exclusive.  And it isn’t me. 

But what is? I hardly recognize my true self these days.  Don’t get me wrong.  What I am: wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, I enjoy to the utmost. But I feel I have given up so much of that life inside me, that life that hasn’t lived, that life that hardly got to see the light of day. 

I am reminded by something I’ve read in The Zahir by Paulo Coelho and it goes like this: No one should ask themselves: Why am I unhappy?  The question carries with it the virus that will destroy everything.  If we ask that question, it means we want to find out what makes us happy.  If what makes us happy is different than what we have now, then we must either change once and for all, or stay as we are, feeling even more unhappy.

Not an easy choice to make.  How do you tell your husband that you’re ready to sell everything, get the kids out of school and travel the world? How do you explain to your friends that you’re truly happier in a 1000 square foot house, without seeing their eyebrows reach their hairline? How do you tell those who feel so entitled to making the decisions for you, to step back and let you act like the adult you are? And how do you tell your parents that all the questions they didn’t bother to answer raised even bigger doubts?  

I am a little afraid of hostility, disappointment and lost friendships. But I need to free my true self somehow before I asphyxiate on the banality of the everyday.  And I need to find a way to do it.  Soon.

A few years ago, probably before my son started school, I came across a book in the bargain aisle at Barnes and Nobles.  Now, I normally don’t like bargain aisles because I’m a bit of a condescending snob towards the books that get placed there.  I can’t help thinking they must be worthless compared to the ones sold at full price.  That said, I have bought books from there and will continue to do so, since I do not prefer reading new releases just because everyone I know is reading them.  I like time to pass, the book to become mysteriously irresistible, and then I pick it up.  

Because I Said So by Camille Peri and Kate Moses is a collection of essays written by various famous and not so famous mothers on (what else?) children, faith, aging, sex and the relationships we have with those around us.  I have read it a few times, laughing out loud at some things, implementing some ideas in my home, and sharing others with friends.  I’m an advocate of candidness.  No matter how outspoken and shocking, I’d rather surround myself with honest people than with those who say one thing and mean another.

This entry is not about the book though.  Nor is it about my criteria for friendships.  It is rather about the power struggles between mother and son and mother and daughter that go on in every house.  Until my daughter was born, I had it easy.  My son and I were so attuned to each other, that I’d mentally scorn every friend I had who complained about not understanding their kids, vowing I’d never end up like them. They yelled and yelled.  I just had to give him a look. (I have this negative obsession of persistently comparing myself to others, determining my place on some obscure hierarchy of motherhood, but that is another subject for another day.)  Well, then I had a daughter and it was like God said: “Time to pay up for that pompous, conceited, superior attitude, girl.  And maybe a little for all the heartache you caused your mother.”  

With my daughter every request is met with: “No! I don’t want to do it! Okay?!?” In the beginning it was cute and my husband and I tried to keep straight faces, happy that she was an early talker.  Proud that she was smart.  Right now we’re wondering if maybe she isn’t a little too smart.  Or I should say, isn’t too much of a smart mouth.  Resistance on every issue, disregard for her brother’s toys (or her mother’s shoes), always a quick comeback.  The list goes on and on.  My husband likes to remind me that I wanted a girl and I got a girl, and of course since I’m the only other female in the house she’s mirroring me.  

True, children absorb what they see.  But our son is growing up in our house too, and I don’t see him becoming a mini version of his dad.  And we were so sure of our excellent parenting techniques that we didn’t deviate exploring other routes.  On the one hand, I am happy that she’s so sure of herself, meaning (hopefully) that she won’t be as susceptible to peer pressure.  On the other, this tug-of-war wears me down and I try to be patient, hoping it’s just a phase she’ll outgrow.  And yes, I do yell.  There, I’ve admitted it.  I count to 10, then 20, and so on.  But mostly I pray for guidance to do the right thing.  And, hopefully, continue to learn from my mistakes and the mistakes of others.

I’m the first to admit that I fumble my way through parenting just as much, or maybe even more than the next mother.  I’ve often undermined not just my husband’s, but my own authority, misplacing all sense of self-respect.  Sometimes it’s just easier to give in to a child’s demands than stand firm.  It is so difficult to be fair and understanding and not to allow my body’s fatigue to show itself through my actions, especially when all I want to do is yell and send them to their rooms.  

Go to the parenting section of any bookstore, and if you’re like me, you’ll be overwhelmed by the selections. How do you know who’s right, who shares your principles?  If you ask me, I’d rather read novels than any self-help book; I learn more from them and I’m entertained in the process.  I’m not suggesting that I haven’t read anything on parenting or that you shouldn’t (check out my list of recommendations at the bottom), but, as my husband says, it’s mostly common sense.  You don’t need a degree in that, do you?  No, but apparently you do need to know where you stand and where you want to go.  You need to be informed  accordingly.  For example: at this point in my role as a mother, I believe my son needs to be taught how to think rather than what to think, and all of us need daily reminders on how to handle our emotions properly.

I like to think of myself as an intelligent woman, wife and mother.  Please.  Let’s not debate it.  I hold the door open to all the ideas out there and then pick and choose those that best apply to me.  I even write down what I consider relevant. That way when I need something to refer to, I have it close at hand.  Looking through my years of note taking, some from self-help, some from novels, all related to parenting, I realize that I can probably put an entire book together, with all the info obtained. Something fitted to my family, my children.  

I’ll grant that compassion, peace, patience, forgiveness, self confidence, honesty, and discipline are all easier to teach to the little ones than to learn.  But, and this is nothing new, consistency is key.  What everyone says is true: successful parenting takes a ton of work and a major dose of humor.  Of course, it helps that my husband and I are united.  We’ve learned this the hard way, early on.  I still lose it from time to time and am anything but peaceful, patient or self-controlled.  (Yes, in my case self-parenting is necessary.)  But I consider my limitations and hope for a better outcome tomorrow.

Kids Are Worth It!   Barbara Coloroso

The Read-Aloud Handbook: Fifth Edition   Jim Trelease

Parenting with Love and Logic   Foster Cline M.D. and Jim Fay

How to Negotiate with Kids… even when you think you shouldn’t   Scott Brown

Real Boys   William Pollack, Ph.D.

Raising Cain   Dan Kindlon, Ph.D. and Michael Thompson, Ph.D.

The Prodigal Son   St. Luke 15:11-32